


Illuminate

by jamiesfreckles



Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Bad Flirting, Dragon Quest XI Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Hero | Luminary is Named Eleven | El (Dragon Quest XI), Multi, Mutual Pining, Post-Game(s), Team as Family, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-03-29 19:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19026043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiesfreckles/pseuds/jamiesfreckles
Summary: When the Time Sphere shatters beneath his blade, El is plunged into the past, but he takes his memories with him.Landing in the past, unhurt but deeply shaken, El looks at the smiling faces of his friends and resolves to keep the future a secret. After all, what they don’t know can’t hurt them, and El will simply have to stop anything else that can.





	1. Past

**Author's Note:**

> In the midst of forging the Sword of Light, I accidentally erased my game save. I have never been more enraged with a person, and that person was me. So I have spent close to a hundred hours this past two weeks getting it further than I did last time, and now I’m in Post-Game, thoroughly enjoying myself, with cramping hands. 
> 
> I thought it would be fun to look at how El would cope if he was plunged into the past, but kept his memories of the future. As far as I understand, he doesn’t recall most of it, and that’s probably for good reason. But I erased the good reason here just as I erased my damn game save. 
> 
> Warning for spoilers and a bit of whump, hence the tags. El is sick in the very first sentence, but not graphically.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It could all still go the same way, El reminds himself uneasily, as he presses one hand against the bark of the tree. He hasn’t changed anything quite yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins. 
> 
> Warnings mostly revolve around angst, vomiting and panic attacks. But nothing too graphic or frequent.

Doubled over outside the Cathedral, under a crisp Arborian sky, El vomits. He remembers precisely what he had for breakfast, in a future that no longer exists, and it disagrees with him now. His stomach churns like a boiling sea. He hunkers down near the shrubbery, so neatly tended, and heaves until his throat hurts. He’s carefully obscured by a wide birch, but his mind ticks and ticks with all the reasons he could give for his sudden illness, should anyone happen to spot him. None of his reasons involve the future, and how it’s gone now. 

It could all still go the same way, El reminds himself uneasily, as he presses one hand against the bark of the tree. He hasn’t changed anything quite yet. Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t help with the sick feeling. The Sword of Shadows feels incredibly heavy on his back, strapped like a chain over his shoulders. 

People see what they expect to see. When he did this the first time round, he was in fine enough spirits. He talked with the Keepers and listened intently to Father Benedictus, and he strode around with Erik at his hip, awed by the towering cliffs and watchful statues, so serene and knowing. He poked at the bookshelves, waved at babies, spent his hard-earned money in the shop and found a few trinkets loitering in pots and unattended wardrobes; Erik’s light-fingered ways were rubbing off on him. He was calm, happy enough despite his exhaustion from the journey through the Snäefelt. 

And now it is the first time again, and El is standing in the past, but to everyone else it is the present. To everyone else, nothing he remembers has come to pass yet. He has battled bigger monsters than he ever knew existed, cried in the boats of uncomfortable fisherman, and lost people that made him feel found. But Arboria doesn’t know that. They know a boy who waves at babies and smiles with his friends. So they see exactly what they expect to see; the Luminary, heading into the First Forest with his loyal companions, weighed down only by his triumphant spoils—shining orbs. They do not see a boy throwing up in the bushes. 

Hands shaking, El gropes about in his pockets for an herb. He's not technically ill, he knows, but it's better to be safe than sorry. As he chews, he thinks carefully, taking deep breaths to keep his stomach from rebelling. His mind is still ticking—this time about his predicament. Something has gone wrong, but he doesn't know what. El isn’t supposed to remember. 

It's not as if he has to worry about accidentally revealing something he shouldn't know; it takes effort to shape words with his hands, and much less to blurt things out with a voice, which El has never been able to do. So his secrets should be safe. The only question remains: which of his secrets should stay safe? 

The Timekeeper spoke a lot of risks and consequences, but they never mentioned that El would remember it all. They hadn’t even seemed convinced that he’d make it to the past, but as far as he can tell, he’s arrived fairly safely. He'd thought all the memories would fade, that he would become a creature of the past if he ever managed to get there, with the barest flashes of memory to help him along. He thought it would be a fresh start, with nothing new but the Sword. 

He doesn't know what went wrong. He's not sure if he should be thankful or not that it did. 

He remembers everything. He remembers failing. He remembers the World Tree falling, and the darkness that spread across Erdrea. He remembers sinking and fighting and searching desperately for his friends, and finding them one by one, each battered and bruised. Hendrik on the battlefields outside of Cobblestone, solemn and strong, and Rab on the mountains of Angri-La, mouse-thin and skirting the edge of everything. Sylv with his fierce band of feathered friends, spreading smiles, and Jade still fighting beneath her spell, unwilling to give up on him. Erik, forgotten by himself, but never by El, torturing himself over his sister all this time, stowing away and falling down and being kidnapped and having manners and just generally giving El a heart attack. Serena, saving them, having saved countless others along the way. He remembers it all. 

He remembers finding one of them propped up against a tree trunk. 

Veronica. Tiny as a child, with as much spirit as a Kingdom. Dressed in red and buried in it too, had there been a body and not a memory. The thought makes his heart clench and ache. 

El finishes chewing the herb, swallowing the grainy lump in his mouth. It stings on the way down his throat. He steps guiltily away from the bushes and out into the sunshine, where he stands, caught, for a moment. Drinking it in. The healing magic is already rushing through him, searching for hurts to soothe, and soon the sting in his throat is gone. His mouth tastes vaguely of mint.

Arboria is a harbour of peace, and the sunshine bathes him. He reaches up to wipe a few tears away, and then straightens his shoulders. This isn’t the place for crying. If he has his way, the days without sunlight will stay gone for good. They will never come to pass. He will not spend too long beneath the sea, his friends will not be lost, and Veronica will never have to make her sacrifice. 

He doesn't know quite when Time would have dropped him, but it must be at some point between Father Benedictus’s speech and their journey into the First Forest. There is time to stop it all. Maybe when he does, when he changes the outcome of the confrontation at Yggdrasil, his memories will fade for good. 

Up the steps he goes, smiling at a man who double-takes at the sight of him, and then El is stepping into the coolness of the Cathedral. The air smells thin here, but the sounds are louder. His footsteps echo off the walls—as does Veronica’s voice, weaving a prayer through the hollow halls. 

El stands in the doorway, rooted to the spot. His eyes find the red figure in a pool of gold light, and he blinks viciously, but the vision doesn't abate. It's Veronica. She's talking. She's breathing and moving and living, and El has never been one to kneel and pray, always more of a simple grateful valley boy, running around outside the Church rather than sitting inside it, but his knees quake and almost buckle then. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ He sends the thought to all: to Yggdrasil and her mighty boughs, and to the serpents sleeping in the earth, and to the Heroes that came before, and to the watchful eyes above. 

“Oi!” Veronica shouts, wheeling around suddenly. El listens, rapt, as she rants and raves, and the air leaves his lungs in short bursts. He’s staring, and Veronica yells at him for it, and it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. There's no time to fall apart, not when everyone else is coming in and asking questions, making remarks about his tasteless sword. But El dearly wants to fall apart. 

He wants to sit around a campfire in his most comfortable clothing, sharing warm meals and sombre tales. He wants Erik leaning against him on one side and Hendrik on the other, both steady companions, and he wants to hear Rab’s cheerful wisdom and Jade’s loving teasing. He desperately needs a hug from Sylv. He wants to fall apart around these people, the ones he trusts. 

But first he needs to keep them safe. 

The First Forest is not as tough to travel through as last time. He gives most of his herbs to Veronica, which earns him an enraged look, and urges Rab to focus on healing. His friends are not as strong as they had been last they met, but El barrels through enemies brazenly at first, batting down Jowlers and Fright Bulbs with ease until Erik catches him by the arm. He jerks his head until El follows him, not too far, but far enough that they won't be heard. Veronica is poking at something on the ground with her staff, Serena standing diligently at her back. It's strange to see her with long hair again, her face no longer creased with grief. 

“Hey,” Erik says, drawing him into the shadow of the rising hill. “You alright? You're blasting through enemies faster than Princess goes through juggling balls.” 

Princess does not refer to Jade, to everyone’s eternal exasperation, because Erik lives to be confusing. Near a sleeping Chump Stump, Sylv, always aware of someone talking about him, narrows his eyes in their direction, but stays where he is. El isn't foolish enough to believe that either of them are safe from his sweet, passive-aggressive wrath, though. 

_You know it's not a good idea to talk badly about Sylv,_ El signs, shaking his head. _He's going to throw petals at you again._

“Seriously though,” Erik says, after he's finished laughing. “Go easy, yeah? You'll burn out before we even get to Yggdrasil. Leave some monsters for the rest of us.” 

Erik is a fairly serious person, for all his jokes and sarcasm, but he rarely speaks honestly when it comes to feelings. He can talk of faith and trust so long as it's layered in humour, but he's more of a take-action sort of person. El knows this after months of travelling together. So he knows to look for concern in casual touches and bowls of broth shoved into his hands. He knows that Erik’s particular brand of care feels like a healing spell hitting his back and a gentle shove the next minute. He knows that relief is usually hidden in a snarky one-liner, seconds after a battle has faded in dust, and so he knows that Erik, behind his smirks and casual comments, is telling him to be careful. He's worried. 

El nods, but his hands stay silent. He won't promise anything, not when he knows exactly what's at stake.

* * *

It isn't satisfying, to see Jasper crumble. Last time, in the Fortress of Fear, Hendrik got to say goodbye. He got to express his hurt, his frustration, his sorrow and regret. He had time, then, to come to terms with it all. Now, he stands near the World Tree’s heart, beautifully untainted, and trembles in shock. El can't even go to him; they don't know each other yet. It’s not satisfying, to see Hendrik shake and Jasper turn to purple mist in the air.

It is satisfying, though, to see the Sword of Shadows destroyed. When the shards dissipate into nothing, El feels a weight lift, and he stands strong through Carnelian’s speeches. Knowing that things have changed so fantastically gives him the strength to stay there, to clench his fists against the flow of words he wants to offer. Neither King Carnelian nor Mordegon can sign, so it's not as though he could offend them, or give himself away, but his friends can understand him. Serena is best at it—or she was, later on, but she's still learning now, so that puts Erik, Jade and Rab at the top of the list. 

There is no doubt in his mind that both would react quite strongly, should he reveal who was really speaking to them. His friends are still feeling the effects of the fight, although El barrelled through that one too, and they need healing before they fight Mordegon again. He can’t reveal anything yet, not without risking everyone’s safety. But he still tenses when Jade is beckoned closer. He still reaches for a sword that isn't there. 

Veronica is watching him, El notices. He drops his hands and relaxes the line of his shoulders, but he can tell she isn't fooled. She narrows his eyes, signs _later_ sharply at her side, and he nods faintly. He's more than okay with later. He didn't think there would be a later with Veronica, once upon a time. But the battle is over, and Veronica is still alive. His heart seizes in his chest. Veronica is alive. 

The rest is unknown. El isn't entirely sure that he wants to know it.

* * *

Heliodor tastes bad on his tongue. There is a curtain over everything, a dusty insistence that this is a lie, a trick, a trap. And it is, of course. El never came to Heliodor after the battle, not the first time, because King Carnelian was revealed to be possessed and Heliodor fell first to the monsters, and El was busy sinking to the bottom of the sea. But he knows it is a trap.

Mordegon watches him all through dinner, hidden behind the King’s eyes. It's a fairly good act. But El knows that look. He wiped that look out with a last swing of his blade, and now it is back to stare at him hungrily. 

The Sword of Light is just as heavy as the Sword of Shadows, but it feels a little friendlier in his hands, thank goodness. El turns it over, admiring the sheen of lamplight flickering off the sharp edge. Veronica signed to him over the banquet table earlier, and now he's waiting in Jasper’s room. It feels strange to wait here, but when he ran into the maid earlier, she had been angrily cleaning it out, clearly upset at the haste of it all. It's empty now, and after all the explanations and declarations over dinner, nobody will be along to Jasper’s room in a while. 

“So this is where you've been hiding.” 

Sharply, El turns, sword held aloft. Serena startles, but her expression smoothes out when he flicks his fingers hurriedly in apology. 

“Don't be silly, you don't have to say sorry! I should have knocked, but I didn't realise you'd be so jumpy.” She peers at him curiously, before twisting to call over her shoulder. “Veronica! I found him!” 

Veronica stomps in almost immediately, already cross. “There you are! Didn't you see me telling you to come and find me? What are you lurking in this old snake’s room for?” She wrinkles her nose. “They cleaned this up pretty quickly, didn't they?” 

Serena gazes around, her eyes soft with sympathy. “It's quite sad, if you think about it. I know he turned out to be a bad sort in the end, but something must have happened to make him the way, don't you think? And it seems wrong, getting rid of his memory so quickly.” 

Veronica snorts rudely. “You forgive too easily.” 

El, for once, is inclined to agree with her. He nods, jumping back to that day in the Grove of Repose. _Why must the good die young?_ He glances at the bookshelf on the far wall, and wonders how old Jasper was when they fought. How old was Jasper when the darkness first caught him in its grasp? How old was he when he stopped wanting to be a Knight? _Did_ he ever stop, or was that all he wanted? Veronica was young when the Lord of Shadows killed her. Was Jasper young, too, when Mordegon took him? 

Veronica jabs him in the ribs. He jerks back, pressing a hand over his wound with a somewhat nonplussed expression. 

“You're doing that thing with your face again,” Veronica complains, her loud little voice bouncing all over the room. “You keep looking around like you're seeing ghosts! And there's something else different about you.” 

“You have been a little absent,” Serena offers, almost apologetic. “Were you hurt in the battle?” 

El shakes his head; his fingers shake too, but that is less purposeful. He can’t tell them, can he? The worst is over now. He's changed it, the point where things go wrong, so surely there's no point in telling them the truth. And no, the memories didn't fade like he hoped they would, but even thinking about it makes him feel like he's drowning, so he can't burden his friends with that knowledge. 

“Well whatever it is, you better fix it, you hear me?” Veronica is much like Erik, in that she never says what she feels. She will call El an idiot and whack him with her staff, and somehow he's supposed to glean that she's worried and wants him to rest, or eat, or heal. 

_I'm fine,_ El signs, putting the Sword away to sign properly. _It was just a hard battle._

Veronica scoffs softly. “It didn't look hard, the way you battered him.” But she backs down, shaking her head as she leads the way out of the room. El casts a look at Hendrik’s room, across the hall, but he can't bring himself to approach. He knows Hendrik is in there, and he knows things are changing slowly in his mind, but he also knows that Hendrik won't be rushed. He will come to a steady conclusion at his own pace. If that includes distance from El, then there's not much El will be able to do about that. 

“We left before dessert,” Veronica says, striding down the hall with the two of them trailing behind her, lost little ducklings. “If Rab’s eaten it all before we get there, I want you both on my team, and it's going to get ugly. I'll show you what a hard battle looks like.”

* * *

Calasmos rises when the dark star falls. El stands on the Emerald Coast and blinks at Erdwin’s Lantern, so shadowed and menacing, looming over the sand-ridden city. At least he has an answer regarding the Dark Spirit from the desert, he thinks glumly. At least he knows what stopped Mordegon from taking his Sword. He would have preferred a different answer, obviously, but the world is never that kind, and apparently it doesn't much care for what El prefers.

“I don't know about ancient or legendary, but I do have a flute,” Veronica says, when the Seer has vanished, her seemingly cryptic words still lingering where she stood. “Do you think this might be it?” 

El nods before the flute is even fully out of the bag. Veronica notices, and Serena does too, both of them staring outright. El feels his ears heat up, but he just nods again when the flute is lifted up for him. 

“Honey, do you know how to play that?” Sylv asks, staring dubiously at the flute in his hands. 

El raises it to his lips and closes his eyes. He can feel the Mark on his hand grow cool; not the bitter chill of the Hekswood or the frost of crystal lilies or the bite of elemental attacks, no. No, this is like that summer when he first learned to fish, Chalky chuckling good-naturedly when he stumbled into the water at the first tug on the line, and the cold water swept up his ankles. It is the cool, steady presence of hope, and it brightens as he plays a melody sweeter than any buzzberry. 

A call echoes out across the skies, a great gasping sound that makes him smile as he lowers the flute, opening his eyes gently. 

“Oh, darling,” Sylv says, hand on his chest. “I never should have doubted you! Especially since we all know how good you are with your hands.” 

He winks, then, and Erik coughs pointedly. Hendrik looks entirely scandalised, bug-eyed in a way that makes El duck his flaming face to hide his laughter. 

“What?” Sylv demands, all mock-innocence, when Erik continues to glare. He opens his mouth, before his gaze is caught on a shape above, and he darts back with a gasp. “Oh my…!” 

Cetacea soars across the sky. Golden wings glimmer bright against the grey, a much needed light. Her cry seems to call to him, both kind and chiding. _Where have you been?_ And El tips his head back, cool hope spreading through him as his friends gasp and smile.

* * *

The Watchers do not know the specifics, but they know something. They stare as he walks by, and El nods at them, signs with his hands and acts pleasantly surprised that they know his language without prompting. But of course he isn’t surprised, because months from now, the last Watcher told him that they were ancient beings, and they had seen his language grow from seed to full bloom.

He hopes his acting is sufficiently convincing. He has a feeling it will improve over time. 

He is surprised by the Havens Above. Before it was one lonely island; the Temple of Dawn bathed in darkness, and a child Watcher tucked away in the shadows. But now there are many islands, each one housing strange puffing mechanics, horses, monsters, platforms that glow, and there are Watchers walking idly through the gauzy grass. 

And the Watchers know something. 

“They’re all staring at you,” Erik murmurs, as they step off a moving platform at the far island. A Watcher is indeed staring at him, beady eyes gone as wide as coins. 

_Well, they are the Watchers,_ El signs, smiling weakly, and Erik rolls his eyes. 

“What have we said about leaving the humour to me?” Erik claps him on the shoulder as they trek up the hill, ignoring Jade’s amused scoff. The hand lingers for longer than usual, warmth spreading from beneath Erik’s fingertips. He seems reluctant to let go. When El glances sideways, his cheeks are a little red from walking, and his bright blue hair is windswept, tousled by the thin air. 

“What?” Erik says, side eyeing him. 

El shrugs, then smiles softly. 

Erik rolls his eyes with a grumble, his hand slipping away. Sylv titters behind them, a knowing little sound that startles several nearby rabbits. Erik whips around to snap something under his breath, but El doesn't hear it, too busy missing the touch and wondering how rabbits got to be so high up in the sky.

“Aye, Laddie, you might have a point,” Rab says, unaware that the conversation has moved on. He's plodding ahead in his usual steady, slow manner, digging his wand into soft soil as the incline steepens. “They seem to be keeping a close eye. But let's see if this Elder can tell us why before we start accusing you of anything, hmm?” 

“Ever the diplomat,” Jade mutters fondly. 

El smiles at Rab, so very short for someone with so much wisdom in him. Finding him in Angri-La had been a mix of wild relief and terrible fear--he had looked dead, shrivelled, and fighting him in the space between worlds was never something El had wanted to do, so he's glad that Rab is back to his comfortably round figure—

El stumbles slightly, foot slipping on a patch of gritty mud as his body grows cold. That hadn't happened yet. It would never happen, not now that Mordegon was gone, but for a minute the lines between his memories had blurred. For a minute, that was the solid truth. 

A hand at his elbow draws him out of his fear. Jade is there, looking down at his slightly hunched form, and she lifts one eyebrow in concern. 

“Careful,” Jade says. “It's a long fall from here, and I'd hate to have to jump after you this time.” 

She's teasing. El knows, with terrifying sureness, that she would jump after him should he fall from any height, and he wishes it weren't true. He trusts his friends to save him, but he doesn't trust himself not to get them killed. He rights himself with her help and smiles, signing shakily. 

_It's a good thing we have a flying whale then._

* * *

“So it's seedlings we have to find then,” Rab muses aloud. Standing in the Inn, looking at the small, strange beds provided, El feels at a loss. The Watcher had said that their beds weren't made for humans, but they were welcome to sleep.

Truthfully, El wants to be somewhere else. But wanting that is what has him at a loss, because where can he go? Where can he go that's safe? Where is home, now? Cobblestone is in ruins, and Dundrasil was never really his, but there must be somewhere that still feels like home. A campsite in the dark, lit by voices and laughter. 

Instead, he folds his tired, aching body into a bed too small for him, and curls up. His muddy boots are drying near the window. Rab talks for a while more while Hendrik hums thoughtfully here and there, nodding along. Hendrik is quieter this time round. He still offers opinions, still treads in their conversations, but he does so lightly. But before, it was just him and El for a while, so it makes sense that he was louder to fill the spaces. Or maybe he's just unsure of his welcome here. 

El closes his eyes, exhausted to his soul, and resolves to fix that. 

“He seems out of spirits,” Hendrik murmurs quietly. “We have not known each other long, not while we were both on the same side. I do not wish to presume, of course, but I take it he was not always this withdrawn?” 

El takes a measured breath, but his pulse has picked up. They're talking about him, he realises. He's facing the room, so he keeps his expression smooth, but it's a while still before Rab replies. Like he's making sure. 

“Aye, he wasnae always this withdrawn. Quiet, yes, but not distant, and he still spoke in his own way. Not like this. It almost seems like he's lost hope, but I don't understand how that can be.” Rab sounds sad, tired. “But his weight is a heavy one to carry.” 

“You believe that he can? You believe that he can shoulder it all?” 

El breathes. He wonders what they see when they look at him, whether they see valley-soft slopes and planes, the easy mornings etched into his skin. It wasn't always simple and lovely. There was never enough money, and always too many monsters, but before he climbed the Cobblestone Tor, El’s life had been relatively peaceful. Full of soft things. Before he set off away from home, the world didn't know he existed, and now he's supposed to save it. He wonders if that's what they see when they look at him; someone who did not belong to the destiny thrown his way. 

“I believe in that boy more than I believe in anything,” Rab says gravely. 

El rolls over, natural as he can, both to keep the act up and because he can't keep it up anymore. His face breaks when they can no longer see him, tears eking out of his squeezed-shut eyes. He keeps them silent. He's not sure if he's sad or scared or greatly, sweetly thankful.

* * *

Before they leave the next morning, they pay another visit to the Elder. Eegoltap sleeps, bubbles forming above his head, and the Watchers are apologetic but steadfast in their insistence that he not be disturbed. El leaves Rab and Jade to discuss the possible seedling locations, and walks up the slope behind the Elder.

The mural is just as grand—more so, now that it's not in pieces, smashed against the earth. There, in the center, is the space where the cog sits, and the space is filled. 

El keeps his distance. He knows that the Time Sphere was what sent him careening back to now, shattering into pieces, but it began when they found the cog. The Wheel of Time. A sliver of hope in a sombre time. It was worth it, El knows, to save Veronica and countless others, to stop the rise of Mordegon in its tracks, but something in him still wants to take the Wheel and turn it forward, or crack it against the ground. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sylv dimples at him, jerking him out of his stupor. “It's a pretty thing, isn't it, but I wouldn't want it in my dining room. Far too depressing!” 

El glances at the mural, then back down at the cog. Sylv, ever fearless, reaches out to poke it, but he doesn't get far before Hendrik grabs his hand. El jumps again; for a man built like a mountain, Hendrik sure moves with stealth. He didn't even know he was near.

“Hey, hands off the goods!” Sylv says, swatting Hendrik away. “Don't be such a brute!” 

“Then do not be such a fool,” Hendrik says, with badly concealed exasperation. 

“Darling, you may want to work on your manners. Knights are supposed to be more chivalrous than this, don't you think, El?” 

_It probably isn't safe to touch,_ El signs apologetically. _I don't want you to get hurt._

Sylv melts, patting him on the cheek. “Oh, honey, you're so sweet. It'll take more than a little cog to put old Sylv out of action though, don't you worry. See, Hendrik? That's manners for you.” 

He prances away then, waving at Serena to join him in front of Erdwin’s statue. 

“I, too,” Hendrik says, clearly miffed, “was only speaking out of concern.” 

They watch Sylv leave, pulling Serena into a half hug that has her laughing, just as he wants. Veronica is interrogating a Watcher with increasing vigour, flanked by Erik, who's watching on in amusement. He twirls his knife, catches it again. His smirk is delightful, even from afar. 

“So.” Hendrik coughs, turning to face the mural. “This… gear? It must be important, for you to gaze at it so.” 

The Wheel of Time sits innocently in its space, gathering dust. El watches it for a moment more, before shaking his head firmly, a definitive no. 

_Not anymore,_ he signs, but only because he knows that Hendrik doesn't understand him yet. 

Hendrik remains quiet. Then he places a hand hesitantly on El’s shoulder, startling him into stillness. 

“I promised to be your unswerving companion. I am told that includes listening to your troubles, and advising you in turn.” Hendrik clears his throat rather awkwardly, but El only feels endeared. “Should you find it agreeable, I would like to learn how to converse with you, and for that I will need a teacher.”

El's heart grows warm. He nods his head, but Erik interrupts him by whistling on the way up the slope. 

“We’re all excellent teachers,” Erik says, still twirling his knife. “We can all chip in, if you like, but Veronica is the best of us.” 

Hendrik removes his hand slowly, his expression caught between tired humour and exasperation. 

“I see. I shall go and inform the young Mage of her new duties, then, shall I? I'll make sure to mention who it was that pointed me her way.” 

Erik grimaces, but Hendrik has already begun his exit, muttering under his breath about the foolhardy, stubborn impertinence of youths. El heard that muttered speech many a time the first time around, so he's not too sad to see it go, but he still shoots Erik a look of reproach when he draws near. 

_We can all teach him,_ El signs to Erik, who shifts guiltily. _I trust him, and I know he'll make a good addition to our party. A good friend too, if you let him._

It's not really a reprimand, more of a gentle reminder that they need all the help they can get. 

“I don't see why he can't be a good friend from a distance, with his hands in his pockets,” Erik grumbles, sheathing his knife. El puts a hand over his mouth and laughs, shaking his head, grateful when Erik’s grumpy expression softens. 

“Alright, fine, I'll try,” Erik says, waving a hand dismissively. “Put the luminous eyes and silky hair away, it's not fair, you know.” 

El puts both hands over his face to hide his red cheeks, still laughing, but far more breathlessly. He hears Rab call for them, asking if they're ready, and he feels Erik step closer to tug him down the slope, and for the first time since he stepped into the past, El thinks he might be ready for the future after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this far! Please let me know what you thought! <3


	2. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On and on the list grows. The candle on the desk flickers and dims, but doesn't go out. El writes deep into the night, scribbling things out and making adjustments until he's satisfied. In the bed, Rab snores deeply, unaware of the turmoil in his grandsons mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I don’t have the heart to hurt El for very long. The next chapter will be mostly confusion, explanations, and the comfort El deserves. I absolutely loved reading every single comment from you all, it made my heart sing!
> 
> El is sick again in this chapter, so steer clear is that bothers you. Also, Act III is fairly free roaming, and there’s no particular order, so of course it may not match up to how you played, and I'm sorry if that's a little jarring. And there are spoilers here! 
> 
> Thank you, and enjoy!

Beneath the open-hearted shade of a tall, swaying palm tree, El presses one hand to his head and winces. There is a pounding there beneath the skin, as though his brain is beating violent gusts of air against his aching skull. 

Up at the Church, not far around the corner, he can hear Rab chatting with Hendrik, discussing their spoils. The battles in their latest Whale Way Station had been long and tedious, but not too painful, luckily, and now they have a pack full of Devilry Drainers that should make enough coin to keep them going for a while. They’re going to have to make a trip to Rainbow Bank, and then hopefully they can rest. But El’s not sure that he can rest with his head aching like this, just as he hasn't been able to sleep these last few nights. 

Lonalulu is always bright. El’s eyes catch on a glass lantern hanging a few feet away, suspended from the redwood beams of a flat roof, and the refracted light is blinding enough that the ache triples. It’s been aching for a while now, since they journeyed to Cobblestone, not long after they gathered their new quest from the Watchers. 

Eegoltap said they would need to find seedlings down here. He knew there wouldn’t be any seedlings in Cobblestone, but going there felt inevitable, if not necessary. He had to make sure everyone was alright, but coming over the first tip of the hill set his head on fire, it felt like. He thinks it’s because looking at Cobblestone is like looking at four places at once. It is the place where he grew up, sunny and bright; it is the smoking ruins of a village raided by Jasper and Hendrik; it is the Last Bastion, crooked and aching but proud; and now it is Cobblestone again, ruined and quiet but still strong where it counts, unwilling to stay down. 

Not everybody can remember Cobblestone the way he can, and that hurts all the more. But he still went, and he promised to gather helpers for Gemma. He promised to help restore Cobblestone to what it once was, but he can't help but feel as though soon there will simply be a fifth layer to a place that should feel like home. 

El steps away from the tree, smiling at Jade where she’s bent her knee beside a child, speaking softly about _Uncle Kai, he’s missing, when will he come home?_ He keeps walking through the village, past Sylv sympathising with a woman near a mountain of watermelon, past a man bemoaning the price of pearls, past the lady that welcomed them to Lonalulu. 

There are no layers to Lonalulu. There are things that the others don't remember, sure, but for the most part, Lonalulu has stayed the same. It is always bright. 

On the stretch of beach where the cramped pier extends into foamy sea, El sits in the hot sand near an old, unreachable well and listens to Davé sing as he tends to the rowing boat. It’s an old sea shanty, cheerful as a whistle, but with a mournful undertone. El has yet to find a sailor's song that isn’t sorrowful beneath the swagger. 

“Fourteen Devilry Drinkers!” Rab booms, his voice echoing around the cave as he saunters towards the pier. “Och, that’ll fetch us a good stack of coin, don’t ye think, Laddie?” 

El jerks his head up, but Rab isn’t talking to him. Erik nods absently, strolling at Rab’s side as he polishes his Fenrir Fang on a bit of his shirt. They haven’t spotted El yet. 

“Thirty-thousand a piece, and we nabbed fourteen of them, so that makes, what? Four-hundred-thousand, or close to it?” Erik smirks. “I can finally get a new upgrade.” 

He flips the knife expertly in his hand, catching the hilt and flicking it over. The blade gleams brightly in the sun, catching the icy curve of sharp, biting metal. Heat flutters in El’s stomach at the move. El spent quite a while hammering that dagger into better shape while Erik lounged about nearby, regaling him with stories of his thieving days and smirking whenever El accused him of being unhelpful and lazy. 

El can’t quite remember when that happened—if it happened in this present, or the one before—but he knows that it did. It happened. That’s what he clings to. 

“Rab,” Erik says, as they draw near the edge of the water, barely a few feet from where El sits with his hand pressed to his aching head. “Have you noticed anything… weird with El lately?” 

The sun doesn’t feel as bright now. The waves and their thunderous cries retreat to a soft, untouchable place. El swallows and thinks about standing, maybe coughing to get their attention. He’s not supposed to listen to this. Erik’s uncharacteristically hesitant tone is all the evidence he needs to know that. And it might hurt. But he _wants_ to hear, and the guilt is not enough to move him. 

“Aye. I wish it weren’t so, but I have.” Rab sighs heavily. “He’s not himself, and damned if I don't know how to fix it, or what’s got into him.” 

Erik’s grip on the knife grows far too tight. El can practically hear the knuckles pop; if he were closer, he might be brave enough to take Erik’s hand and ease his grip slightly, teasing him about stance and form. It always takes bravery to touch Erik with ease, with steady confidence, because in truth just the thought makes him shake nowadays. If he touches, even for the briefest moment, every desperate inch of him demands that he cling. 

“Damn,” Erik says, edging into another sigh. “I hoped maybe I was imagining things. I don’t know how someone who’s never spoken out loud can seem quiet all of a sudden, but he does.” 

“He’s always been loud in other ways.” Rab tips his head back, and the tilt of his brow says that he’s not truly seeing the blue sky, untouched by cloud. He’s seeing Eleanor and Irwin. He’s seeing the faces of those he misses, those that had to leave, those that would have been loud on El’s behalf. “That boy might not use his words, but he’s got a voice. It speaks to the whole world. Not just the Luminary in him, either, no, there’s something there that’s just El. But you’re right, he’s different these days. And I think we all know when it started.” 

El shrinks in on himself. 

“In the Cathedral,” Erik agrees, nodding. “One minute he was there and the next he was gone, just like that!” 

“And he came back looking lost.” Rab shakes his head sadly. 

“But I can’t figure out why,” Erik says, clearly frustrated. “He vanished. When he came back he had that big ugly Sword, and it stank of darkness, but he was still El. Just quieter, and… lost, like you said. But not just like he'd lost himself. What happened, between when we lost him and when we found him? And what did he lose?” 

Months, El thinks wryly to himself. Months happened. But as he stands and brushes the sand from his trousers, he thinks uneasily that even he doesn't know the answer to the last question.

* * *

In Zwaardrust, El does what needs to be done. It's far easier this time, but killing the Gloomnivore was never the hardest thing about travelling beneath the ruins. He's grateful that he doesn't have to see the ghostly structure of Dundrasil again, and walk through long destroyed halls. He's grateful that he did not have to peer into his own eyes and know that the happiness there would soon be snatched away. He is happy that he doesn't have to travel through time again; to a past that couldn't be fixed, this time.

He's grateful, but at the same time, it hurts. It was the first time in his memory that he saw his mother's face, so beautiful and regal despite her worried gaze. So full of tender love for him, for her family. 

It hurts even more to hear her voice as his father fades again. It's good, he knows, because this time Irwin will be with Eleanor. They will be together in a place of peace. But it would be even better if they could be here, with him. 

Above the ruins, El takes a minute to stare at the darkness of the encroaching dusk. Then he staggers past the pools of poison, burning with indigo violence, and vomits in the grass. 

“El?” 

“Gross,” Veronica mutters. 

“Oh!” Serena hurries over, brandishing her Heavy Wand. El’s twisting stomach settles a little at the first brush of magic, and he sighs. Erik’s hand lands on his shoulder and stays there. El can feel the rough fabric of his finger-less gloves as his hand slides further up, resting on the bare skin of El’s neck. 

It takes a minute, but El stands eventually. He flushes red with embarrassment when he catches everyone’s anxious gaze, all of them watching him. 

_I’m fine,_ El lies, shaking out his hands when they shake traitorously. _It was a hard battle, that's all. Thanks, Serena._

Serena smiles warmly at him, but her wand flutters anxiously at her side. “That's alright! I'm here to help, after all.” 

“Perhaps we had better rest at the Inn,” Hendrik suggests, voice much louder than necessary. “It will be dark soon, and we will likely find ourselves in mortal danger again.” 

Sylv snorts delicately in the ensuing silence, patting his bicep. El can't tell if he means it to be vaguely condescending, or just fond. Probably both, knowing Sylv. 

“You sure know how to lighten the mood, Hendrik. Why don't you lead the way then?” 

They squabble quietly as the party moves on. Serena glances back in worry when El remains rooted to the spot, and Veronica stares for a bit, but she seems more suspicious than anything. 

“Hey.” 

El jolts at the sound of Erik’s voice, much closer than usual. They're standing together, and there's still a hand on his neck. He meets erik's eyes and grimaces, letting his gaze fall to the floor. He's supposed to be hiding this, he's not supposed to fall apart this way, he can't _hurt_ them with what he knows. 

Erik slides his hand from the nape of El’s neck to his chin, and then up to cup his face. El jerks, wide-eyed, and then grows still. They're very, very close now. 

“Hey,” Erik says again, much quieter this time. There is a slight tremble to his usually steady hands. “That was rough, I know. I wish you hadn't had to do that.” 

El nods a little. He wishes that too. Erik’s hand is warm and his gloves are a little rough, but mostly the touch is just welcome. They don't do this often, but that's probably a good thing; if they touched like this all the time, El would never stop being distracted, no matter what kind of creature he was trying to fight.

“But…” Erik hesitates. “That seemed like something else, too. If you want to say something, if you want to talk. Well, I know I'm not great with this stuff, but I'm here.” 

El reluctantly steps back a little, but only so he can sign urgently. _You are. You are great at this stuff. You're the only reason I…_

Erik strokes his thumb along El’s cheek, gentle and almost… reverent. It steals his breath. And suddenly, El can't tell him. He can't ruin this moment, or any other moments that might wait for them, with the truth of what he did. 

El failed at the first hurdle, before. He dragged Yggdrasil to Her doom. He failed to save Her, he failed to stop the Lord of Shadows from rising, and he failed to keep all of his party alive. Now he's trying to fix it, and he can't even do that properly. Calasmos has risen. He's got more information than he knows what to do with, and he's too busy throwing up in bushes to help the people that need it. They could all die, this time, and they will if he keeps falling apart like this. 

Erik’s hand falls away at the new set to El’s jaw, the determined look in his eye. 

_I’m glad you're here,_ El signs, fingers quick and sure. _And I'm here for you, too. All of you._

Erik smiles, but something in his gaze makes El think he might have missed the point slightly.

* * *

_Miko, and her son Ryu. (Dragon. Mirror? Crucible Key?) Hotto._

El scratches a new line onto the scrap of parchment. He scavenged it from Rab’s pack, risking his eyes as he rifled through several glossy magazines. 

_Master Pang. Angri-La, seedling there?_

The first line on the list has already been ticked off. El wrote Michelle and Kai before he realised quite what he was writing, and he can't say he minds much. It's nice to see that he's made a start, even if it's a small one. 

_Mia. Let Erik tell me himself, research curses? No Gyldigga? Sniflheim._

He worries for Erik, and the fate of his sister, but he hopes that it'll turn out okay. It did last time, and this time Erik will have all of his memories. He’ll know what to do about Mia from the very beginning. El won't have to watch him struggle with his own mind, his own confused, battered feelings. 

_Son and Da. Still in danger? Phomn Nomh._

On and on the list grows. The candle on the desk flickers and dims, but doesn't go out. El writes deep into the night, scribbling things out and making adjustments until he's satisfied. In the bed, Rab snores deeply, unaware of the turmoil in his grandsons mind. 

When the first rays of sunlight filter through the window of their room in Gondolia, El puts away the quill. His hands are stained with ink, and a little with dirt from the fighting yesterday, but they haven't trembled all night. The fighting was worth it; Noah should be headed for Cobblestone by now, and Gemma will be relieved if nothing else. And the writing was worth it too. El peruses the list thoughtfully, and doubt creeps into his mind. 

He hesitates. It's not really necessary. He's done it already. But not putting it down seems like he's tempting fate, and that's not something he's eager to test at the moment. With an uneasy feeling, El picks up the quill again, and adds one more name to the bottom of the list. 

_Veronica._

El releases a quiet breath, a sigh that quakes the curtains. He sits back in his chair. The others can't find it, but it helps just to know that it's there. He has a list now, and a purpose. 

These are all the people he's going to save.

* * *

El sits down on the grass, feeling numb. Behind him, Erik takes a plank of wood that could have been a log in a kinder life, and the others pile around them. Everyone is very clearly exhausted, their faces drawn and clothes rumpled.

It's been a long few weeks of searching for seeds. El’s not… he's not been at his best. He's nearly crumbled more times than he can count, nearly told everyone everything he knows or used to know. He keeps being sick, and he keeps staggering when he should stand strong. Twice, he's fallen asleep on Sylv’s shoulder, not having slept the night before. He can tell the others are worried, but it's hard to sleep when there are so many things on his mind. 

The only weight off his mind is their trip to Sniflheim, where they managed to rescue Mia without too much trouble. Erik’s been grinning at him far more fiercely recently, with no regard for El’s fragile composure and weak, fluttering heart, but even that scrap of light is tempered by the fact that Queen Frysabel’s Kingdom is in trouble again. It had been Rab that suggested they search for the last seed while they grew strong enough to face that dragon plaguing the fjord. 

And they had found it. And the Seer had found them. 

El pulls at some grass, just holding it between his fingers. Sylv leans into Hendrik to murmur something, winking as he pulls away, and Hendrik’s droll look is only marred by the red on his cheeks. Jade stokes the fire pit, flinging a water pouch at El when he stares absently at her for too long. 

“Drink, you look exhausted,” Jade says. “And you two need your strength too. That was quite a feat of magic you performed.” 

Veronica lounges on the ground with a theatrical groan. “I'll say! I don't think I'd mind being a tree if I had to be, but it seems like it was more exciting on the outside.”

“I still can't believe the Seer was Morcant all along,” Serena says, settling more primly beside her sister. It still warms El to see them so close together, never to be parted. Not if he has anything to say about it. 

_The good bit of him,_ El signs, catching Rab’s attention. Rab nods solemnly, dropping his pack at his feet and leaning his stag against a bit of shrubbery. Night is falling fast, and their campfire is beginning to grow cosy and full. 

“The good bit, aye, but still a surprise at that. I’m curious about that Timekeeper he mentioned. I wonder what else is in store for us.”

“Hopefully nothing quite as shocking as all that,” Erik says, one knee knocking into El’s shoulder. “I've never heard of a Timekeeper before now, but it doesn't seem likely that she's a Mage from years ago, does it? You don't think it's a trap, do you?” 

El tenses slightly, shaking his head. But nobody notices. It's not like them not to notice, but Sylv is speaking, and they have the beginning of a thread in their grasp. El knows they won't rest until they've unravelled it, and it makes his heart clench. His pulse quickens, and he swallows thickly. 

“It could be a trap, but something tells me it isn't,” Serena says, peering thoughtfully into the burgeoning flames, still reluctant to burn hot. “If it truly is Serenica, we should see her as soon as possible. We have to know the truth, and find out if we can help her.” 

“Not to mention, she might be able to help us,” Veronica adds, propping herself up on her elbows and narrowing her eyes at El’s pale grimace. “There's only one way to find out!” 

Rab chuckles. El has never felt less like laughing since he was thrown into this time. 

“The lass has a point. What do you say?” Rab turns to him, smiling cheerfully. “Shall we go and investigate the Lost Lands?” 

El’s heart bursts up his throat, his pulse thick in his mouth. He can't raise his hands fast enough. 

_No._

There is a brief moment before Rab chuckles again. And this sort of thing has happened before. So usually, when someone asks him the same question again, El caves pretty quickly. Usually, he says yes. But not this time. 

_No,_ El signs when Rab asks again, surging upright. Everyone jerks back, eyes wide with surprise as he forces his trembling fingers to work. _No, we aren’t going there! Nobody’s going to the Lost Lands. Nobody is ever going to the Lost Lands again!_

An uncertain silence descends. El’s hands shake like the earth, when Yggdrasil crashed against it. He shoves them deep in his pockets and breathes, in and out, while everyone gives each other strange, worried looks. 

“Again?” Jade asks, with a deep frown. She drops the poker for the fire and stares up at him while he shudders through another breath.

“Luminary,” Hendrik says, awkward and halting. “Have you and your companions travelled there in the past?” 

Not the past, not quite. But not the future anymore either. El clenches his fists in his pockets. 

“Not as far as I’m aware, but they picked me up a little later than the rest,” Sylv says, when El doesn’t answer. “Honey, are you okay?” 

El doesn’t answer that either. 

“We did not travel there with you, I’m sure.” Serena gives a timid smile. “I feel certain I’d remember a place called The Lost Lands.”

“You were travelling with that idiot before you met me and Serena,” Veronica says, jerking her head at Erik. “Did you go to the Lost Lands then? What’s there that’s so terrifying?” 

As one, the group turns to Erik, but Erik isn’t looking at them. El can feel his gaze on the side of his face, heavy as a hand. 

“I don’t know, because we never went there,” Erik says, loud and clear. “And before you came to Heliodor, before this all started, you’d never left Cobblestone, had you? That’s what you told me, anyway.” 

El knows it’s foolish to keep quiet when they’re clearly worried. And it hurts to do so, if only because he never wanted to worry them; that was what this was all about, keeping them safe and happy and unsuspecting. He doesn’t want to burden them with it all. But more than that, he simply _can’t_ form words. He can’t move his hands. He can’t do anything. 

“Maybe everyone needs some rest, then,” Jade offers tactfully. “It’s been a long day. We can decide where to go in the morning, if you like, when we have a clearer mind.” 

There’s a few seconds of silence, before everyone grumbles in acquiescence. The general hushed hubbub of evening begins. Serena murmurs several more protective spells to encircle their campfire, and Veronica pulls a blanket huffily out of her pack. Rab sighs, sharing a look with Jade. Hendrik seems deep in thought, drumming his fingers against his belt, and Sylv stretches, seemingly unbothered, although El can see the downturn of his mouth from where he slowly sits on the wood, numb and unable to move. 

Erik stays silent, sitting beside him. He’s still looking. And then, in the midst of their busy company, before everyone can drift too far, Erik says, “That’s where you went, isn’t it?”

The questions, although fairly quiet, stops everyone in their tracks. El inhales sharply; he can tell, from the graveness of Erik’s voice, that he knows. He’s figured something out. 

“The day in the Cathedral, when you disappeared during Father Benedictus’s speech,” Erik continues, leaning forward now. “I thought you'd just walked out when we weren't paying attention, but none of it made any sense. It was important stuff, and I never lose track of you. But that's where you went, isn't it? You went to these Lost Lands?” 

He’s not wrong, but he’s not right either. El shakes his head, no. And then, before everyone can turn away again, he nods very slowly. 

“What does _that_ mean?” Veronica says, sounding equal parts frustrated and alarmed. She drops her blanket and shares a look with Serena, who discretely waves her wand. El feels the brush of kind, familiar magic sweeping over him and lingering at the back of his head, but there’s nothing to heal. No weeping wounds, no dizzy minds. No compulsions or spells or confusion. 

“Did you hit your head in the last battle, honey?” Sylv says, although his own words don’t seem to convince him. “You seem a little out of sorts.” 

“I can Defuddle you,” Rab offers, reaching over the arm of his little foldaway chair for his staff. 

El takes a deep, shuddering breath. When he releases it, tears form at the corners of his eyes. Sylv coos immediately, fussing closer, but he doesn't touch. 

“He’s not confused,” Erik says, not quite sharp. “He’s lying.” 

“Erik,” Jade warns. 

The tears slip down. El bunches up a fist and scrubs at his cheek, but it makes no difference. He feels heavier than he did yesterday, which should be impossible. The tears keep rolling down, and he hears several murmurs and Sylv snaps something to Erik, and it’s too much. 

_I have been lying._ El gulps down a breath and lowers his hands. The movements quiet the arguments beginning to stir, and El repeats them just to be sure. _I’ve been lying to all of you._

“About what?” Veronica demands, although she doesn’t look very angry at the admittance. More shocked than anything. The others look a strange, painful mix of worry and hurt. El’s stomach twists.

“I’m pretty sure lying must take a toll on your holy Luminary sensibilities,” Erik says mildly, shifting even closer on the wood plank. His voice softens. “Hey. I don’t know what it is, but you can tell us.” 

A round of nods. 

“It certainly can’t be easy, keeping things to yourself like this,” Serena says, voice packed with sympathy. 

“Not to mention, completely pointless, darling!” Sylv stands with clasped hands, and breathes on the simmering fire until it roars to life. Burnished flames bathe them all in heat. “Sylv’s Detective Agency is the best of the best! You should know by now that we never let a mystery go unsolved.” 

“We do seem to be a group made up completely of prying, inquisitive folk,” Hendrik points out. 

“Hendrik, darling, that wasn’t quite what I meant.” Sylv waves a hand. “But anyway, it’s us, honey! You can talk to us.” 

El nods very slowly. He can. He knows he can. But he was trying, very hard, to not _need_ to tell them. 

Erik nudges his shoulder. El glances sideways and smiles slightly at the familiar glint in those eyes. If nothing else, Erik has his back. 

_It’s a long story,_ El signs carefully. 

“Go on, Laddie,” Rab says, settling back in his chair with a strange look on his face, one that makes him look tired and old, but fond. “We’re listening.” 

They really are, El realises, looking around at the circle of his friends. Erik is warm at his side, and there are many smiles waiting for him in the light of the fire, waiting for his story. 

_Do you remember,_ El signs slowly, _the mural in the Havens Above? And the strange cog in the middle?”_

“Above Eegoltap’s head?” Rab muses, tapping his chin. “Aye, I remember something of the like.” 

“You were rather fixated on the cog, if I recall,” Hendrik offers. “Does it have something to do with your disappearance, and your subsequent falsehoods?” 

“You have such a way with words,” Sylv says, winking. Hendrik opens his mouth to snap back, clearly flustered, but Jade withdraws her whip very slowly. 

“Stop flirting, both of you,” she says, amid several splutters and hidden snickers. 

“What about this cog?” Erik says, before Hendrik can burst a blood vessel. “Is it something important?” 

_Yes, although I don’t know if that's true now,_ El signs. _But it was very important before._

Erik shifts somehow even closer, and he’s grateful for the presence, the grounding touch, because everyone else is looking at him like he's lost his mind. “Before?” 

_Or later, I suppose. See, it’s not actually a cog._ El shapes the words hesitantly, and then dives in with one final burst of courage. _It’s the Wheel of Time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know if you have nice thoughts, and never apologise for comments, I love talking with you! <3


	3. Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quietly, Erik says, “We have time.”
> 
> And they do. It is a breath-taking realisation, one that steals everything steady out from underneath El’s feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings. I have only words of love for you! Thank you for reading and for your comments, and sorry it took so long to write this last piece. I hope it is worth the wait! <3

Beneath the night sky, El weaves a story. It is easier to pretend that the story comes from a book he found in Gondolia, or a bedtime tale told to him in Cobblestone, when he was young and unafraid of the looming future. When he didn't know anything of Dundrasil and his place there, when he didn't know that he had other families and friends that relied on him, when he was unaware of the very great power sleeping in his hand. This is the kind of story he would have liked, once upon a time, and so it is easier to pretend. But the truth is far less kind. The truth is that the story he now weaves was once the truth, and now it is no more than a story that hurts to hear. 

He has told them, in halting increments, about how he broke the Time Sphere and came spinning back to this time. There had been shock and disbelief, and Erik had paced for a full five minutes while Hendrik and Jade barrelled over him with questions. But El knows that it makes more sense than they’d like, and it would be an incredibly odd thing to lie about. 

He can’t tell if he’s relieved, that they know. He already did all of this, although granted it went very differently, and now he is back in the past, living it all again. And now they know.

“But what I don't understand,” Jade says, for the fifth time, “is why you had to do it. Why did you come back to this time?”

The silence is expectant. 

_We lost._

They have all gathered close around the fire, but El feels stranded. Isolated. The others have formed a curve, watching him and his story as it takes shape, and it leaves one side of the fire unfathomably empty. Even Erik has drifted away, cross-legged on the dewy grass as he tips his stunned gaze up to meet El’s eyes. 

“We lost?” Veronica repeats, shocked. Serena covers her mouth with her hand, a gasp trapped behind her pale fingers. 

“How could we lose?” Erik says, his voice soft and lost. “We have the Luminary.” 

Erik says the words with such honest belief, a stark refusal to accept anything else as true, and it hurts. It cuts to the quick. They couldn’t possibly _lose_ because they have the Luminary. They couldn’t lose because El would help them win. 

El swallows around his dry throat. He thinks Erik is trying to be cheerful, buoyant, but he is clearly searching for the lie. He wants El to be lying, and El does too. 

But the truth is unkind. When it mattered, El didn't do enough. He lost his friends. He couldn't save them. The Luminary wasn't enough to save them. 

_We weren’t prepared._ El settles a little on the log. _The Lord of Shadows had an accomplice, someone we weren’t expecting. Jasper._

Hendrik sits up straight. He is always steady and unmoving, a mountain made man, but now he could have been carved from stone. El keeps their gazes locked as he signs, gently, _We could not beat him. He struck us down, and his dark aura was too strong to cut through. None of our hits landed. When King Carnelian arrived, we thought we were saved, but he was Mordegon all along. He stole the Sword of Light from Yggdrasil, and his power turned it into the Sword of Shadows._

Hendrik crumples a little, but his expression remains stern and blank. 

“That ghastly thing you showed up with?” Sylvando asks. “In Arboria?”

When El nods, Jade’s curious voice interrupts his next sentence. “You knew that it wasn’t my father. You knew that Mordegon was controlling him.”

A windpipe is such a finicky thing, El thinks, as his closes up. His panic is a tangible thing, a pressure around his throat. 

“We found out pretty soon after,” Erik offers, but he sounds weirdly unsure. “It’s not like El was gonna let it stay a secret, were you?”

It takes everything in him not to explode from his seat, shaking his head frantically and pleading reassurances. Instead, he stares at Jade. And Jade knows him better than he knows himself sometimes, so all he does is shake his head once, locking the rest of it all up in his chest for later. He can panic and break apart later, but right now they deserve to know the bare truth. 

Jade’s blank expression softens, and she smiles. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like I blamed you. I only ask because it must have been a weight to bear, and I wish you had shared it sooner. I am on your side, El.”

The relief he feels leaves him breathless and weak. 

“Aye, we’re all on your side,” Rab agrees, leaning forward in his fold-up chair, hands clasped like a patient King. “Go on, if you can.”

El can. He can as long as they keep looking at him like that, like they believe him. Like they won’t stray any further away than the other side of the fire. 

_There wasn’t anything we could do,_ El signs, but he isn’t sure that he believes it. There should have been something he could do. _When Mordegon revealed himself, when he took the Sword of Light, most of us couldn’t move. We were thrown apart when the…_

“What?” Erik asks, soft and urgent. “What happened?”

_When the World Tree fell._

El has known many silences. He knows the particular disapproving silence of his mother, when he returns home late for dinner and covered in mud, but that silence doesn’t last long before her chuckles fill it. He knows the silence he shared with Erik those first few weeks, when they slowly grew to know each other, but that silence did not last long either. They filled it with silly tales and muttered conversations in the dark. He knows the darker silence of dungeons and caves, and the ear-splitting silence of the battlefield.

He has always been a study in silence. He uses his hands to speak because his throat fails him, and so he has a voice, but it isn’t a loud one. And it means he is surrounded by silences, often. So he knows them intimately—this one feels like a silence that will last a lifetime. This patch of grass where they sit will be scorched come morning, a messy oval of quiet that never quite fades. 

“She fell?” Serena whispers. “Yggdrasil fell?”

El bows his head. He can see the tears gathering in Serena’s eyes, and he doesn’t want to look anymore. Sylv sniffles, and there is a shuffle of fabric as Hendrik puts a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it in soothing little circles. Rab’s deep sigh echoes over the campsite, followed closely by Jade’s mournful little sound, caught in her throat. 

“I suppose you did say we lost, didn't you?” Veronica sounds wry, and sad. El cannot bring himself to lift his head and look at her. “I don't know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I really didn't think She would ever fall, not in any world. It doesn’t seem _possible._ What… what was it like?”

El shakes his head. He thinks of the barren ground and the darkness in the air, the blood-thirsty monsters that spilled from the cracks in the cliffs and the ground, screeching and clawing at anything brave enough to keep living. He thinks of a Church in the foothills, bathed in blood, and a purple sky. He shakes his head again. 

“Okay, maybe that’s enough for tonight,” Erik says. He hasn’t said anything yet, not about Yggdrasil, but El can feel him staring. It’s not unusual. Erik often looks his way, studying him, checking for injuries, making sure he’s not in trouble again… at least, that’s what Erik says. Sylv says it’s because Erik likes to look, but that thought is a dangerous one. Now, though, there is an element of something else to this look.

“One more thing,” Hendrik says, startling them all. He hasn’t asked for much since they accepted him into their party. He asks for simple things; a bed where he can see the door, lessons to speak El’s language better, and for everyone to eat their greens before he goes grey from worry. But he’s asking now. It’s enough to get El to look up, curious despite his growing exhaustion. 

“I said—” Erik snaps, but El shakes his head, cutting him off. 

_What is it?_ El signs. 

Hendrik clears his throat. He seems unconcerned with their combined stares, but El notes the telltale flicker of discomfort in his eyes. “You have told us many hard things tonight, and I commend you for that. But perhaps you could share one good thing, before we sleep. For your peace of mind as much as ours.”

Sylv slaps a hand against Hendrik’s chest, earning a stoic grunt. “So you _do_ have a romantic bone in that big, robust body of yours!”

“Oh!” Serena smiles widely, her eyes soft. “That’s a lovely idea.”

“Boring,” Veronica sing-songs, while Erik snorts. “But I guess we might. Do I know any really explosive spells? What about my whip—did I find a better one? I’ve always wanted one that shoots fire, you know.”

El tries on a smile and finds it a little too small, but real enough. He’s not thought about the good parts, swallowed up by all the bad and sinking in it too. But with their gentle, reassuring eyes on him, El raises his hands and signs, _I do know one thing. Hendrik likes the same magazines that Rab does._

Rab stands from his seat imperiously, a panicked look on his face, and claps his hands once, startling the fireflies from their settled perches. But there is no halt to the cacophony of laughter that echoes through their campfire. Veronica snorts, childlike, and Sylv wheezes behind his hands. Jace’s rich laugh is entirely at Rab’s expense. Hendrik, underneath all his spluttering, looks rather pleased at having put a smile on their faces, however embarrassing it might be. El offers him a guilty smile, before he’s distracted by the sight of Erik’s shoulders shaking, his chuckles lighting up the night brighter than a storm of fireflies. 

It is enough that he feels the weight on his heart lift, ever so slightly.

* * *

Octagonia is as loud as ever. Casino music drifts down the stone halls, rifling through El’s thoughts. The dancers are in full swing, dressed up to the nines, and there are far too many cottontails waving about for everyone to keep their eyes averted. El does a good job, though, sipping his flagon of ale thoughtfully and admiring the grain of the wooden handle. They’ve snagged a table near the stage, thanks to Sylv’s loud distracting laughter and his way of commanding a crowd, and none of them seem keen on moving just yet.

There is something going on here in the hollow darkness beneath the city, something that involves Vince, but there’s time enough to figure it out. It’s a diversion from the dragon in the fjord that they are not quite strong enough to beat yet, and from the Tower in the Lost Lands that El is not quite strong enough to face yet. He’s hoping, secretly, that he can tick off another of Gemma’s requests while he’s here, and that way he won’t feel so guilty for avoiding the inevitable. 

Nobody has asked him anything since their first talk, the other night, but El slept soundly for the first time in weeks. He woke with creases on his face and Veronica sitting nearby, standing guard while the others packed up camp. 

“You snore,” Veronica had said, before he’d even fully opened his eyes. “I’d forgotten because you’ve been walking around like a corpse for ages. It’s loud, and if you stop doing it, I’ll kick you.”

El had patted her on the back, and that had been that. She hasn’t asked him for more details on the future, and part of El wonders if she knows. He hopes not, but it’s a dismal hope. 

A dancer darts closer, hips swinging. The cheers grow a little more raucous all around them. 

“I wonder how good you’d look in that, honey.” Sylv props his chin up on his hands and drags his eyes up and down El. “Some glitter, a nice pair of stockings, maybe a few feathers. I bet you’d look a treat!”

Erik almost chokes on his drink. He’s been slouched in his chair since they grabbed a few seats, his chest shining with sweat beneath the lamplight, where his tunic has fallen open. He hasn’t looked away from the dancers once. Octagonia is always stiflingly warm, despite its distance from the hotter climates, but he looks a little more hot under the collar than usual. 

“What?” Erik says hoarsely, staring straight at El. “What?” He can’t seem to find any other words. El feels his heart trip up in his chest. Erik performs the same kind of look that Sylv did, scanning El with intent before he tears his eyes away entirely, staring determinedly at the stage. Not _entirely_ the same kind of look that Sylv did. El doesn’t know what to make of that, but it makes his palms itch. 

Sylv is smirking. “Problem, darling?”

Erik grinds his teeth. “All good here, princess.”

Sylv snorts gently, catching El’s bemused look and winking. “Good. In that case, we’ll go shopping soon, okay? I’ve been wanting to dress you up for a while, and we have this fool’s permission now. You’ll be even prettier than normal in no time!”

Erik takes a fortifying draught of ale, glancing at them furtively. 

_You put me in feathers once,_ El signs, thinking fondly of his Mardi Garb gear.

Erik really does choke on his drink this time. It’s like an explosion of froth and shock, and he emerges, dripping, from his flagon to blink widely at El. There’s no explanation for the look on his face. 

“Feathers?” Erik croaks weakly. 

Sylv starts snickering. “Lucky me! I’ll leave you boys to clean up while I bother Henny over there. He’s far too stiff for a dancefloor.” He stands in a graceful movement and leaps over a spare chair, weaving through the crowd with ease. El thinks he can pinpoint the moment Hendrik spots his fate, because a vague aura of doom falls over the room. 

_Are you alright?_ El asks, picking up a napkin once he’s finished signing. When Erik doesn’t move or respond, El leans over and wipes some of the ale from his hands, catching the stickiness before it can settle on his skin. 

“I’m fine, just went down the wrong pipe,” Erik says, shaking off his touch gently. He takes the napkin and wipes his mouth, throwing it haphazardly on the table. When he’s more or less dry, Erik drags a distressed hand through his hair and says, “Feathers? Really?”

El laughs soundlessly. _It’s not as bad as it sounds. Sylv was one of the first people we found, after everything happened. He was travelling through Champs Sauvage at the time, with a parade of dancers. They were bringing smiles to the world._ El smiles at the mere memory. _He gave me a very tight outfit, and it had a lot of feathers. Nothing very exciting. I probably looked a bit stupid, actually._

“I doubt that,” Erik murmurs in a low voice, eyes dark.

El ducks his head, cheeks flaming. 

“I hate to interrupt,” Jade says, slipping smoothly out of the crowd. “Rab and I found something to do with Vince, and you’re not going to like it. I think we need to go and investigate, now.”

They stand immediately, both of them sharing a curious glance. Erik has a stain on his tunic where his drink landed, and his collarbones are still glistening. It is _completely_ unfair, El thinks, although he doesn’t know why he’s had the thought.

“Lead the way,” Erik says, the usual provocative edge to his slouch. 

With one last hum from Jade, they stride from the Casino. El feels their hands brush more than once, and shivers each time. The moment may be gone, but he isn’t going to forget the look in Erik’s eyes for a long, long time.

* * *

_I have a list._

The strokes of the quill against parchment taper off suddenly when he shuffles his feet. Rab blinks up at him, ink in his beard, and he says, “What did you say lad? Sorry, I wasnae listening.”

El’s mouth twitches. He likes that Rab took it in his stride, finding out that El couldn’t speak the way most people did. It wasn’t unusual, Rab had said. There were a few in the family line that were similar to him, but El hadn’t known about that when he met Rab. When he’d realised that it was his grandfather gazing at him thoughtfully every time he moved his hands, it had shaken him. It was his _grandfather_ that he’d been disappointing with every sketched word, and he hadn’t even known. 

He’d tried to apologise, later, in the quiet aftermath. But Rab had put a stop to that line of thought fairly quickly. 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my Grandson, and I won’t change my mind on that anytime soon. Give me a few weeks to get to grips with this language of yours, and I’ll be a step ahead of even you.” Rab had winked, and El’s heart had soared. “Now, how do you sign ‘dinner?’”

Now, if Rab misses something, it’s because he wasn’t listening—his words, not El’s. It is heart-warming to hear it even now, as they recover from the Zoom from Zwaardrust to Sniflheim, where the monsters are tough and teeming with more rage than they are used to. 

_I said, I have a list._ El holds up the battered piece of parchment, torn at the bottom to get rid of Veronica’s name. In the bed near the window, facing the door, Hendrik’s snores cut off abruptly as he snorts himself awake. 

“A list, eh?” Rab makes a motion, and soon the list is in his grasp. “Let’s have a look at this, then.”

El meets Hendrik’s sleep-softened eyes and grins at the wide yawn that overtakes him. _Good morning. You look very gallant._

Hendrik curses quietly under his breath, wiping the drool from the side of his mouth. “El. Luminary. What brings you to our quarters at this hour?”

El can’t help but laugh at the stumbling, stiff words. It makes no noise, but it is felt by everyone in the room. 

“I have to concur with sleepy-guts over there,” Rab says, waving the list about. “What is this, exactly?”

_A list._

At the raised eyebrow, El settles on the side of the desk. The morning light is a pale, ghostly thing, creeping in through the curtains. There is already a fire crackling in the grate, warding off the fierce, brittle cold that ravages Sniflheim, even in Summer, but he can see frost on the windowpane. No doubt Erik will be cheerful this morning; he denies all love for his former home, but this is a chance to see Mia again, and he thrives in the cold. It would be irritating, if El didn't love him. 

His own thoughts trip him up, and El beats back a blush when Rab looks up at his choked, strangled expression. It’s nothing new, this thought. He’s known that he loves Erik for a while now. But it is surprising to think it so casually, even in the comfort of his own head. 

“Something bothering you, lad?”

El shakes his head wildly. 

“Hmm.” Rab and Hendrik share a glance. El isn’t sure that he likes that, but he rolls his eyes and lets it go. When Rab shrugs and lifts the list again, he snaps back to attention. “This looks like a list of names and places, but most of it doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

_It is a list of names and places,_ El agrees, standing up straighter, his signs coming faster. _People I met, or people I would have met, if Time was working the way it did the first time. I want to make sure we can save them._

Rab’s got a proud look on his face, something that makes El squirm. 

_We’ve already seen a few, so I imagine they’re safe, and things won’t go the way they did before._

“Mia,” Rab guesses, as Hendrik slips from his bed and starts pulling on his boots. “I noticed the lass on here, but I don't know of this Gyldygga.”

_Gyldygga was Mia, in a way,_ El admits. He hasn’t shared much more than the odd tidbit, here and there. _Mordegon offered her a chance to be free of her Curse before Erik found her. When we got there, she’d unleashed a gold fever on Sniflheim. She had her soldiers kidnap Erik, and when we went to rescue her, we ended up in a battle. I don't think we have to worry though, since she’s already been freed and there’s no Mordegon to corrupt her._

“Does Erik know of her past fate?” Hendrik asks. When El shakes his head, he nods. “Perhaps you should tell him, to relieve your burdens. You may have shared some, and I imagine some stories are too difficult to pass your lips, but I believe it will help. As Princess Jade said the first night… we are all on your side, Luminary.”

“Don't think it hasnae escaped our notice how sick you’ve been,” Rab says, prodding him in the ribs. He stands, and it makes almost no difference to his height, which sends a little stabbing pain through El’s chest. Fondness, or affection, or a love so deep and whole it hurts. 

“But speaking of your pain seems to help ease your physical struggles,” Hendrik adds. “It would be wise to continue the trend.”

“Aye,” Rab agrees firmly. 

El glances between them both, bewildered. After a beat of silence, with two raised eyebrows aimed his way, he lifts his hands and signs, _I came to give you a list, not to leave with a lecture._

Rab shrugs, beaming behind his beard. “I see no reason why ye cannae do both!”

* * *

With the Jormun safely ensconced in Cobblestone, the village is as good as new. El eats at his mother’s table and listens to her happy retelling of their recent adventures. She likes the new arrivals, although some of them give her the wibbles, and she has more mouths to feed than she ever expected. It is an unexpected sliver of peace, and it brings El a wave of comfort that he hadn’t thought to find here.

When he leaves, fully-fed and glowing, he stops outside his house. Cobblestone no longer looks like five places at once. It simply looks new. He had thought he would never find anything but an ache here, but telling his friends the truth has lessened the pain in his head. He’s not thrown up since before that night, and his shaking is less prominent now. It is still too much, at times, but El finally feels like he might be on the mend. 

But he feels as though there’s a condition to that; he will remain on the mend, as whole as can be, so long as he never steps foot in the Lost Lands. 

With a deep, shuddering breath, El walks. He finds Erik leaning against the wall of the nearest house, just over the crest of the hill. Cole is at his side, pestering him for answers while he shakes with awe at having a real-life thief here, and Erik’s expression is a mix of wariness and amusement. 

“Kid, I have no idea how to answer that,” Erik says, as El scuffs his shoes to make his presence known. Erik’s eyes find him immediately. His stiff shoulders relax. 

“El!” Cole rounds on him, his grin wide and beseeching. “You answer! Would you rather fight a dragon with bad breath or a sabre-tooth with knives for whiskers?”

_We’ve fought both of those, Cole,_ El points out, signing faster than usual. People in Cobblestone know his language better than their own, some days. He neglects to mention that they were pretty normal dragons and sabre-tooths, with no hygiene issues or extra blades to speak of. Cole nearly faints from excitement, and Erik steers him back towards his parents before he can throw himself into a garbled demand for stories. 

“Thought he was gonna climb inside our pockets, or something,” Erik says, leading El in a slow stroll downhill, towards the shop. The sun looks good on him, brightening his smile. “Make sure you check our bags before we leave, just in case.”

_I don't really want to deal with another stowaway situation,_ El agrees, bumping Erik with his shoulder. _You were bad enough. I thought Sylv was going to have a fit._

He stops himself, but far too late. Erik pauses on the hill, his shoes scuffing up the dirt and sending little pebbles rolling for freedom. 

“Me?”

El swallows. He doesn’t really like to think about that time, small as it was. He doesn’t like to remember the way Erik looked at him, without a shred of recognition. 

_You. But that—that hasn’t happened. And it won’t happen, this time around._

Erik is quiet. They resume walking, but a minute or so before they reach the shop, Erik gets a hand in his sleeve and yanks him sideways. He sets a brisk pace until they reach a low wall outside the Church, beneath the shadow of a tree, and then he shoves El down on the ground. Not roughly, not quite. But hard enough that he lands with a surprised gasp, mouth half-open as he peers up at Erik. 

“Everyone’s busy, so you’ve got plenty of time to tell me a story or two,” Erik says. He sits down on the wall, one knee kicked up, and takes El’s hand. It’s so at odds with his firm, unrelenting voice that El finds himself momentarily stymied. They don't usually touch, not like this—although that’s not really true of late, El has to admit. 

“I don't know what happened to you while you were off being you, in the future,” Erik says. “But I know there was a version of me there with you. This is the first time you’ve mentioned me, specifically, though, and I want to know what happened.”

El needs both hands to sign, but Erik seems content to keep his for a moment more. So he listens, instead. 

“You’ve been running yourself into the ground for ages now, and I haven’t been able to fix it. You’re not all the way better now, either, so don't try and worm your way out of Serena’s medical checks. But I knew something was wrong from the beginning, when you charged through the First Forest like it had insulted your hometown.” Erik grins at him briefly, and El rolls his eyes, but he’s blushing. He might have been a little bad at keeping his secret near the beginning, but nobody guessed, so he couldn’t have been too obvious. 

“I knew, but I didn't say anything.” Erik frowns then, the humour fading from his face. “You kept looking at everyone like they were going to disappear. I know you didn't sleep, and you only ate if Hendrik made you. You were throwing up, and you were in pain, and I… I didn't do anything.”

Immediately, El tugs his hand out of Erik’s grip, but only so he can sign, _That’s not true. I knew you were worried, and I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner. But I didn't want to burden everyone. It’s a lot to know._

“Which is why you shouldn’t keep it all to yourself, idiot.” But Erik’s voice isn’t harsh, even though his frown is. “You haven’t even scratched the surface, have you?”

El pokes at an ant crawling along the wall. There are cracks here and there where the ants live, and it looks cool and inviting inside them. He leaves the ant to its travels and shakes his head miserably. 

Quietly, Erik says, “We have time.”

And they do. It is a breath-taking realisation, one that steals everything steady out from underneath El’s feet. He has so much time and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s been jumping from place to place, crisis to crisis, trying to do what he can. Trying to save everyone he couldn’t before. Rab’s taken to his list with gusto and they’ve overused Zoom to the point where most of them still feel like they’re flying even when their feet are firmly on the ground. There is always someone to help, but none of it feels like enough. 

Because all of the pain is in his past, and he’s keeping it trapped there. His pain isn’t pain, and El is finally able to admit it. It’s not pain that’s making him sick like this. It’s grief. 

Exhaling harshly, El closes his eyes. Then, with the greatest reluctance and a scorching relief, he signs, _Veronica died._

He hears the sound that Erik makes, a sound that must have been punched out of him. Guttural and wounded. He feels the way Erik grows stock still, rigid with disbelief and denial, until a hand clenches down on El’s thigh. Nails dig in. It’s for balance, El knows, to feel that this is real. 

The leaves shift above them, shielding them from view. Distant laughter and the splash of footsteps in the river are the only intruders on their crumbling grief. 

“No,” Erik says softly. 

El opens his eyes. His hands are still frozen in the air, and he lowers them, finding Erik’s hand still resting on his thigh. The touch jolts Erik into action, and he surges forward, gripping El’s shoulder with his free hand. 

“You’re serious?” Erik demands. “She really…”

El wishes he had a different answer, but he doesn’t. He nods, and Erik’s eyes skate all over his broken expression, lingering on the tears that gather at the corners of his eyes. 

“You saw.” It’s not a question. 

El bows his head, but Erik pulls his face back up, fingers clumsy on his chin. 

“That sounded…” Erik is never this flustered for words, but now he looks lost and almost angry. “I’m not accusing you. This isn’t—I didn't mean it like that. Whatever happened, I know it wasn’t your fault. I just mean, you shouldn’t have had to _see.”_

It was his fault, but that’s a secret for another time. 

_We all saw,_ El signs. _Veronica saved us when the World Tree fell. We were in the very heart of Yggdrasil, and it would have killed us all, but she used her magic. All of her magic. It sent us all over Erdrea, separated us, and I—when I was back to myself, I went looking for all of you. Hendrik was fighting entire armies, Rab was in limbo, Sylv was trying to keep up a mask. Jade was possessed, and we didn't know where Serena was. You… you didn't have your memories, any of them._ Erik recoils slightly, but keeps his hands where they are, holding him in the lightest embrace. _Veronica was the last one we found, but she was already gone. It was just a memory of her. Serena had to see it too. She followed her sister’s magic across Erdrea. She was so sure we’d find Veronica alive, in their home, but..._

El doesn’t think he can say anymore. Luckily, Erik doesn’t seem to want anything else from him. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, either. He leaves one hand on El’s thigh, and El puts his own on top of it, holding his fingers carefully. 

“No wonder you haven’t been able to look at her,” Erik says eventually. “Does she know?”

El shakes his head. He has a feeling that Veronica suspects something, but he’s grateful that she hasn’t asked. Maybe she will, one day, and maybe one day he’ll be able to tell her the truth. But right now, he knows it wouldn’t be possible. Not without breaking. 

“Good,” Erik says. 

His face is twisted in grief, but in the distance, near the steps leading down to Cobblestone Tor path, there is a patch of red. A squabbling, tiny patch of red, flanked by a slender figure in silver. Veronica is alive here. She didn't die alone, in a grove forever tainted with grief. 

Grief has been making El feel like he might crumble, but it isn’t entirely grief for Veronica. 

_I’ve been putting things off,_ El signs. _I know I shouldn’t. Finding the seedlings is important, and so is building whatever we need to defeat Calasmos. We need to speak with Serenica, if she really is in the Tower. But every time I think of that place, I feel like I’m not really here._

Erik swivels to face him, sharp eyes fixed on his. He’s still in shock, and El knows he should give him a minute, but he won’t be able to finish this if he doesn’t speak now. “What do you mean?”

_I don't know. I just know that I… stopped existing there. From the minute I stepped into that Tower. I had to go back in time and be something else, and it wasn’t supposed to be this way, I wasn’t supposed to remember. But I do. And nobody else does, because I…_ El screws his face up, fighting back tears. _I left you all behind. I lost you._

He doesn’t know what Erik says, but he feels strong, familiar arms around him, and then they’re moving further into the shadow of the Church. Tears flow fast and freely, and even as he feels like he’s cracking open, El can sense some ripped bit inside of him healing. Erik wraps him up tightly and mutters nonsensical things, some of which ring like threats and curses, and some of which settle like soothing rain. 

“I’ve got you. I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you then,” Erik says, when El can hear again. “But I’ve got you.”

Yellow flowers are growing in the short, green grass. The wind stirs up the petals, sending flurries of soft buttered teardrops through the air, and the laughter doesn’t sound as distant. It’s still and quiet, there in the shadows. Erik is warm all around him, holding him tightly. 

“Tell me about being a fish,” Erik says suddenly, as the last of his tears dry up. “One bad thing and one good thing. Hendrik said that, right? You mentioned being a fish last time, but you didn't give me enough information, and I’ll never forgive you if you don't share the details. Did you have hair like this, still?”

A light tug on his hair pulls a chuckle from his chest, and El sits up slowly. He feels heavy and light all at once. Erik lets go, but El doesn’t move far, and he’s close enough to press a kiss to Erik’s cheek. So he does.

But it is clumsy, and he misses, and his mouth lands close to Erik’s mouth instead.

Both of them remain silent as El draws back. Erik watches him, his expression unreadable, but his throat is pink as a flush creeps over his skin. 

_No hair,_ El signs, offering him a small, vaguely worried smile. _I’m told I had very shiny scales, though._

Erik snorts, surprised into laughing. When he stops, he shakes his head and drags his hand through his hair, the blue hands sticking up in distress. “You know, when I said I wanted to hear more stories, I was afraid it was going to be about me. I thought you might have—but that’s not—”

El cocks his head, raising an eyebrow, still flushed from his brief spout of bravery. 

Frustrated, Erik sighs. “I thought something had happened, with us, in the future. That we weren’t talking, or things went wrong. I thought that might be why you hadn’t told me what happened to you. I didn't realise you were keeping quiet because everything was awful in the future.”

He smiles wanly, to show he’s joking, but his smirk is lacklustre at best. 

El wipes his eyes, sitting up properly. There are petals on his shoulders, and some nestled in Erik’s hair. The sadness he feels is still there, but it’s fading, and in its place is staggering relief and warm certainty. The tree above them dances, and he gathers the courage that he knows he has, and reaches for Erik’s cheek. Smoothing his thumb along the cheekbone, he is reminded abruptly of Erik holding his face after he faced the Gloomnivore, after he freed his father and heard his mother’s voice again, and he has to laugh at himself. 

He really did miss the point of that, didn't he?

_Not everything was awful._ El shifts closer, hopeful. He’s reluctant to let go of Erik’s face, but eager to speak. _And nothing happened with us in the future. But I’m more interested in what’s happening right now._

It takes a moment before a smile curls across Erik’s face, unstoppable and bright, mirroring his hope. “Smooth, Luminary. Very, very smooth.”

This quiet moment feels inevitable. No matter the time stream, no matter how he got here or in what order, he was always going to get here. He was always going to lean in and kiss Erik soundly on the mouth, hands curling together as they fit seamlessly, like pages pressing petals between them. 

He draws back, gasping, but Erik does not let him get far. They kiss again, slower and more heated, until Veronica’s shout echoes across the village. 

“Oi! Not in front of the Church!”

Sylv practically howls with laughter, clapping ecstatically. El buries his head in Erik’s collar and tries to steady his breathing, while Erik swears at their friends over the top of his head. Not at Veronica, he notices, and grief seizes him suddenly. But it ebbs just as quickly when hands settle at the small of his back. 

“Well done, honey!” Sylv shouts, still clapping obnoxiously. 

“Yes, well done! It’s about time!” Serena calls, surprising the others into laughter. Her and Veronica begin to bicker good-naturedly. El can hear their voices grow quieter as they walk away, Rab’s proud guffaws mingling with Jade’s quieter ruminations. Hendrik is quiet as ever, but Sylv’s teasing carries for miles, so it’s obvious that he’s there. 

“You know, we should probably go with them,” Erik says, sighing. “They’ll end up in a ditch or a jail cell, and we all know I’m the only one with any hope of breaking them out of trouble.”

El sits up, amused. _You’re a master of breaking out of things._

Erik winks. 

Laughing, El shakes his head. He traces his mouth with his finger and sighs happily, aware of Erik’s gaze on him. There are still petals in his hair. 

“We still have to go to the Lost Lands,” Erik says, and though the words are painful and terrifying, they hold less threat out of a loved ones’ mouth. “But we’re on your side, remember? I definitely am. And I’ve got no plans to leave you.”

It is enough, for now, to tame the fear in his heart. El pulls him in for a quick kiss. When he withdraws, there is that soft reverent look again, and it is still too much to look at. 

_How did you know?_ El signs roughly, his fingers steadier than his shaking heart. _How did you know there was a version of you there, in the future, with me?_

Erik shoots him a patient smirk, but the soft smile that follows is dazzling. He plucks one of El’s hands out of the air, and then the other, and he holds one while lifting the other to his lips. The kiss he presses against El’s palm is soft, and knowing, and loving. 

“Where else would I be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! No more for this story, but I dearly loved exploring it. I didn't touch on everything I wanted to, mostly because I haven't played the game in a while and lost my inspiration for it. BUT I'm really happy with this and I do love what I wrote, I think I got all the important bits down. I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you thought, I'm eager to hear from you! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it down here. I know I have another Dragon Quest fic but I might leave that one alone, since I was writing that before I knew the ending of the game, and now I do, and it feels odd to go back to it. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! <3


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